


Perspectives~Chapter One~Part One: Blue on Black

by PhoenixDragon



Series: Perspectives [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Dark, Gen, Horror, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-05
Updated: 2010-07-05
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDragon/pseuds/PhoenixDragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set AU from S4.04 'Metamorphosis', this is a what-if based on Dean's discovery of Sam's secret mere minutes after coming back from the past: Told from the viewpoints of Dean, Sam and Bobby, this tale is about choices, none of them easy and how those same choices can carry into the future. <br/>Sometimes all you can do is walk away, even when everything within you tells you not to. Dean thinks it will be simple, but one phone call from Bobby leads to a case that just may get him caught - and the hunt for Dean Winchester is on. <br/>Dean finds a new friend and ally, while Sam discovers what it is to truly be left behind as he and Bobby race against the clock to find his brother before he disappears forever. Armed with a location, the Impala, determination and one Angel of the Lord - will they get to Dean before he can become so much shadow and mist? Or will the secrets and lies be all that Sam and Bobby are left with in the end?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perspectives~Chapter One~Part One: Blue on Black

_**Perspectives** _

**  
'Blue on Black'   
**

  
_You turned and you ran, oh yeah - Oh, slipped right from my hands_ **- Kenny Wayne Shepherd**  


**4:41AM**

He couldn't fix this.

He took one look at the scene before him, the chick with black hair from the hotel room (was it only a few weeks ago?) and Sammy, _his_ Sammy, doing something that wasn't natural, wasn't _right_ , and it went so far beyond psychic flashes that it wasn't funny. He had lied. He had lied with a straight face and there wasn't the barest flicker that he had been lying. It had only been a few months for Sam, for Dean it had been a lifetime (not that he'd ever let Sammy know, know how much was creeping back in, know what a horror, what a parody of himself he had become) – but as he looked into that room, as he looked on how his brother had chosen to fight, chosen to remember him, all he could feel was sick.

This was beyond anything he could cope with – and that right there left him more miserable than before. Was the Other Dean, the Dean from Before stronger? Would he have been able to handle this? He didn't know – a lifetime spanned the distance between the two of them. One that was so glaringly obvious, that Sam – his baby brother – had noticed and had lied. Lied and used what Dean knew of him against him, like a weapon, like a door. He had shut Dean out. He was so busy fighting for Dean he had forgotten about how to fight alongside him – and it was all because of that black-haired bitch. He was sure of it.

He swallowed thickly against the rage and hatred that had so become a part of him lately – forced it down, forced it away – until all that was left was a bone deep weariness. Weary, weak and sick. He found that he had closed his eyes against what he had brought upon them, as he struggled with his inner self - and made himself open them again –

To see what his Sammy had become.

The triumph, sheer joy and arrogance that played across Sam's face was a horror all of its own. This person, this man, was unknown to him. He had thought it was just his imagination, the distance that had come between them, but this…this was not his imagination, this was not a nightmare come to life. This…this was real.

He watched, frozen, as Sam pulled thick black smoke from the man's mouth, the leftovers of the demon falling to sizzle at the stranger's feet, and Dean pondered how many had received this fate. How many had come to torture him afterwards? (And from a vague, half-formed thought) how many had he tortured? He didn't know – he didn't want to know, and that right there showed him how behind, how weak, how useless he had become in the face of life itself. He was galvanized by his own humanity and it ate at him in a way none of his failures before ever had.

He didn't know how anymore.

It had all been for nothing.

This – _this_ is what Castiel wanted him to see? To have what he once was, what Sam once was, rubbed coldly into his face? To have his hope, his love for his brother scraped raw and bleeding across the chasm of years?

He wiped his hand across his mouth as if trying to seal it all in, the scream of anger, the urge to bawl like a child, and straightened his shoulders. He had to know – he had to know if he was nothing now, if what they were, what they had been – was irreparable. No matter what, no matter how many years or months or weeks spun out between them, he knew that Sam's face would tell him everything...would tell him where in Sam's life he was now relegated.

He pulled away from the window, the mesh a barrier, a metaphor you might say for what was happening between them, and prepared to play the big brother card, once simple and second nature, now old, rusty and half-forgotten in some strange way from an odd type of disuse, like his soul hadn't forgotten the years he spent downstairs. He wished mightily that it could, that he could erase whatever taint he carried that alienated him from his brother – that made Sam lie to him, deceive him. Had Sam even missed him? Or had he forgotten him, even as Dean struggled to remember his brother while in The Pit. These and other half-formed question would be answered in mere moments – Sam would tell him without saying a word at all. So here Dean would be using what he knew of him against his own brother. How low he had sunk, that he would rail against his own brother, against fate for what he was now about to do. How was he any different? How was Sam any worse? Because he had a feeling that he was way worse than Sam could ever be – that somehow, he had failed them both in the worst way possible. But this was not to be dealt with now. Sam…Sam was what – who – had to be dealt with. It all came down to him this time.

He put on his game-face as he swung the door open, bullying past the threshold with an outraged bravado he didn't really feel – and his eyes locked with Sam's. Time seemed to stop – to stretch in on itself and expand beyond its own borders to hold that moment – the moment when he discovered just how useless, how worthless, how very detrimental he really was. So many emotions/thoughts/feelings flickered over Sam's features when he looked up and realized it was Dean. But the most prominent were the most important...and what was missing was even more important than that. In those brief seconds that lasted forever in Dean's mind, he _saw_. Startled irritation, cold rage, recognition, weariness, mild disgust and…dismissal – before Sam's features closed in on themselves to plain stark surprised and…feigned guilt. There was no remorse, no apology in those eyes, just calculating assessment and endless, endless cold. Those eyes still told all – and they told Dean that though this was not the way Sam wanted him to find out – now that he had, Sam didn't care. That Dean was a burden, a stranger and a weight upon Sam and all that he held as true now shone for mere milliseconds before they collapsed into that horrible mask of Sammy – _his_ Sammy. But he could feel, see that this alien being, this person, looked like his Sammy, but he really, really wasn't. Not anymore, not if he ever was.

' _Just how sure are you that what you brought back was pure, one hundred percent Sam?_ '

A chill came over Dean when he realized that he had never really contemplated that question – that he had fended it off and buried it along with all the other awful questions, wants and needs that had rose up to choke him over his years on Earth. He had waved it away – ignored it…and now that ignorance was coming back to haunt him. He had dismissed it as simply nothing more than another demonic taunt – and now? Now _he_ was dismissed…simple as that really.

How long had it been like this? Was it gradual, or sudden? How many lies, secrets, and betrayals lay between them? That question circled his head like a vulture, just waiting for his soul to fall down dead all over again so it could pick at the rotting carcass that was left of what he had once been.

 _How sure?_

The question was asked several decades ago in his foggy reckoning, but really had it only been a year and a half here? Time had ceased having meaning long ago in that vague, half-remembered wasteland of his waking dreams – but that idea bothered him, plagued him as he stared across the short distance of the room into the eyes of a man he once carried out of a burning house. Was he truly his Sam? Or had the Other Dean, the Dean from Before, missed what was staring right at him for over a year before he died?

He didn't have a solution – and that, as much as what stared back at him from across that little space of a room, was all the answer he needed.

He barely took time to notice the look exchanged between Sam and the black-haired girl that was being worn by Ruby (yet another lie there) – or hell, maybe it was some other demonic sonuvabitch, who knew – either way a lie of omission was still a lie.

The quick glance between the two of them was a punch in the gut, a fresh sorrow all at once. It was a sudden communication, done without thought or much effort – the kind of look he and Sam had leveled at each other many a time in that era relegated to Once and Long Ago. It was a secret connection that told all in less time than it took to form thought – and the look was a familiar one, one that he knew so well it only took seconds to decode. 'How should we handle this? Have you got it – or should I take care of it?' – and he could actually hear the sound of his own heart breaking.

Between his own doubts, this person that was Not Sam and that Look that was only done amongst loved ones – amongst family – he knew he was finished. He had been replaced – and quite handily too it seemed by the very demon (he was quite sure) that had lied to Sam about saving him and yet had somehow wormed right back into his good graces for all of that. And that above all, that very fact told him he was nothing, he was _less_ than nothing. He had fulfilled his purpose – and now even his purpose was gone.

He could see himself striding across the room, demanding answers, getting in their faces and bullying the truth of what he was seeing out of them. Maybe even storming off and making Sam come to him, wheedling and applying his patented kicked-puppy look before explaining it all away – getting back on Dean's good side much the way his demonic whore probably had, silver tongue plying more lies on top of lies until what was left of the Now Dean was lost, buried beneath the weight of his own failures and lack of insight into the present.

He had no strength for it, no stomach for it. He couldn't…he just couldn't. And the weight of that particular failure sat heavily in his chest, making it hard to breathe or even think. He could do that – just get in the mix and be the Before Dean and push and pull until Sam gave – or he gave, which was more likely, but…not today, not now – maybe not ever. He felt drained, tired and nauseated, the gray maelstrom of hopelessness and loss eating him from the inside out, his lips numb and unable to speak to even save himself from what he was going to do. He could have fixed this. He knew that once, he could have, but that was Before Dean…he was just – he was a ghost.

He turned and walked away, deaf and unfeeling to Sam's call behind his back. All he felt, all he heard was the hesitation and resigned disgust that carried in his (brother's?) voice, that tired effort to draw him back in – though he could feel Sam's heart wasn't in it.

And with that, he walked faster, getting into the car that was once his home, but now only felt like so much cold steel and glass encased around him. He didn't know how to handle that either, so he just put the vehicle in drive and followed the road back to the hotel, his mind already far away from him and as unreachable as the Before Dean - as unreachable as the sibling he had raised and loved.

He got to the hotel faster than he'd thought he would, noting briefly that Castiel was no longer there, and while he felt no surprise, it only served to make him feel more cold and alone.

Even Cas knew he was a lost cause.

He packed quickly, noting once more how sparse and few his belongings had become in the time he had been gone and made his way back to the Impala, hesitating as he came to her driver's side door, his mind reaching, stretching for why he felt compelled to take the vehicle. Habit? That was almost a laugh – he had a feeling that this particular habit had long burned away in the fires of The Pit. He felt a strange tugging, an urge to get inside and take comfort in what was once his home – but he knew it wouldn't be home again, not without Sammy. Even his beloved car, his refuge and his solace outside of his flesh and blood family was foreign to him now – the odd vertigo of metal and glass boxing him in, stopping him from breathing or even _being_ overcame his senses once more and he knew that even she was far from him now. So he turned back to the hotel room and gently, almost reverently, laid her keys upon the table near the door, his heart clenching at the loss of them for a mere moment before he closed the door behind him, his own key to the room now locked inside to prevent the temptation of the familiar – to stop him from succumbing to his own dire weaknesses.

So far, his brother hadn't shown. He didn't know if he ever would – but he didn't think he could take the pain of waiting, of finding out how little he meant if he lingered and Sam never came. And even if Sam was right on his heels, he knew that he could never face him and win against that pull of family, of want and need that had always burned so hot and bright within that it had blinded him for so long against himself. He knew that if Sam did come, if he did confront him, it would be out of his own sense of the familiar – and it would be driven by the cold calculation that he had seen in those eyes (now the eyes of a stranger ) whether their owner was aware of it or not. Best to break ties now and hope that Sam would see that awfulness in the mirror all on his own. If not…well, fuck the world anyhow, right? How had the world ever helped the Winchesters?

It wasn't that hard to walk away in the end, to fade into the chilled fog that had fallen over the small city in the wee hours – all you had to do was become what you are – Nothing – and it was the easiest thing in the world.

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
'Have you told Dean yet?' _Was one of the first things Ruby said to him when he climbed into the passenger seat of her car - and it was one of the first things that popped into his conscious mind when Dean burst into the room and stopped dead with that...that_ look _\- on his face._

The next thought hot on the heels of that one was a clear and resounding 'Aw, FUCK.'

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 **03:56am**

"I'm tellin' ya, Sam - you need to say something to him, or -"

"Or what? You'll do it?" He snorted derisively and swiped a hand over his eyes. Between the two of them - even while Dean slept the longest and hardest, whereas Sam hardly slept at all - he wondered who was more rested. He felt like shit nine times out of ten - but Dean...

He shook his head and shrugged an apology in Ruby's direction, voice low as he motioned her to start the car. "Sorry, ahhhh...it's been a long day."

"It's okay, Sam - I just...I worry about you, you know? Are you getting enough sleep?"

He almost laughed at that, but wound up shaking his head, throwing a weak smile at her even as he straightened his shoulders and leaned back - like looking awake would equal feeling awake.

"I'm - I'm good. I'm more worried about Dean - asshole sleeps all the time, but...I swear he's just unconscious - not asleep - annnd I'm probably making no sense." He shrugged again and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window, the urge to close his eyes and doze even if only for a moment, so overwhelming he could feel the dreams fighting at the edges of his mind to reach out and overtake him. He almost missed Ruby's soft reply and in retrospect, kinda wished he had.

"No - makes a lot of sense. After you spend some time in Hell - sleep just...it's not a refuge - more like an escape. And well...it doesn't do you alot of good in the long run." She bit her lip, and fell quiet for a moment, leaving Sam reeling in the passenger seat from the little tidbit she'd chosen to share. Some of it from the fact she _had_ chosen to share. Ruby wasn't what you'd call the most forthcoming of creatures - but that wasn't all of it. Sam was left with quite a few of his own nightmares about what Dean had gone through. He didn't think he could handle knowing much beyond that though, what his imagination conjured up was bad enough - but even he knew, it probably paled in comparison to the real thing.

He found he was staring at her, through her - and turned away with an embarrassed cough, noting her discomfort in the slight tilt of her right shoulder, her dark hair swaying forward to hide her eyes. In times like this, at moments like this, he saw her as a person, not as a demon and for some odd reason that made him even more uncomfortable. She wasn't sexy, she wasn't pretty in those moments - hell, he knew she wasn't even a _girl_ , really - but sometimes he saw her as she might have been once and that scared him more than Lillith and all the Hounds of Hell.

"So! Um..." he began, the sense of awkwardness filling the car and making it hard - harder - to think than usual.

"I'm sorry," she started, words tripping up over his and snapping him back to attention. He glanced at her and she seemed to shrink in her seat, top teeth worrying at her lip as she spared a glance at him through the fall of her hair before snapping her eyes back to the windshield as though burnt, a small smile tugging at her mouth even as her eyes bled apologies from her face. "I...I didn't think. I shouldn't have mentioned anything. I know...I know what happened to Dean is still painful for you."

Like it wasn't painful to Dean.

Her almost flippant choice of words irked him, even as she sounded remorseful for the subject matter. ' _What happened to Dean_ ' - like it was a car accident, or a bout with the flu or any other teeny insignificant misfortune that happened to all of humankind - except for him and his brother.

Like Hell was a bad vacation choice.

He went to snap at her, the snide, snarling words like sharp edges in his mouth just waiting to be spit into her face. He caught himself with effort and swallowed back the sudden bite of anger, surprised and a little uneasy at how quick and volatile his temper was nowadays. He blew off the niggling bad feeling that accompanied the jolt of awareness into himself and gave her a rueful grin, hoping she didn't see how her words had affected him.

"It's uhh, it's okay, Ruby - just...can we get some coffee or something? Before we do this?" He rubbed his fingers into his eyes, dreading the headache he was bound to be sporting for the rest of the day. What they did was good - great, even - but there was always a price attached. You think he would have learned that by now.

She looked thrown by the change in subject, but otherwise none the wiser to his flare of anger. She shrugged, tossing her hair out of her face as the tension in the car throttled back a few notches, a small relieved smile sitting cosily on her lips. "Coffee. No problem - there's a gas station on the way, we'll stop there."

She looked at him again, eyes appraising now as if she could penetrate his soul with her gaze and he fought the urge to shudder in disgust at the idea. He looked back, unsure of what she was looking for, wishing that he'd had just a little more sleep - then maybe everything wouldn't be so damned _fuzzy_ around the edges.

"Will you, uhhh....need anything-"

"Yeah!" Too quickly. He flashed his teeth in a parody of a smile, the feeling of wrong and awkward falling back over him when he thought about what she was referring to. The fact that it helped him to do this was horrifying. But the thought that he was coming to need it was worse and not just because it made it easier to work his mojo - but because it made things...easier. He swallowed in effort, his mouth suddenly dry and too small with the taste-memory of blood. "Yeah - I need less of it, but it still...gets the cylinders firing, you know?"

For a moment her answering smile seemed sly...secretive and ominous, but then he blinked and it was just Ruby - Ruby driving in the middle of the night with him to go fight an evil bastard from The Pit. Just like not-so-old times.

God, he needed more sleep.

He sighed and wrapped his coat tighter around his torso, a sudden chill catching him off guard even as the heat blasted at him from the dash. It seemed that he was always cold here of late. He could never seem to get warm and on the heels of that perpetual half-thought, his longing for Dean, the Impala and her old Army blanket that always lay crumpled in the backseat would wash over him - the nostalgia a comfort as well as a burden on his spirit. It amazed him that all he had wanted was his brother back for those four long summer months (that in reality were more like four long years) - he worked so hard to hone his powers, spending hours upon hours practicing even as his head felt like it was going to explode at any moment - just so he could march into Hell and save his brother. He'd tried everything else, he had even tried giving up, but the drive, the need was there - so he practiced, he dealt with the icepick agony of each attempt and thrilled in his own progress. Yet here he was, driving away from the very person he had wanted back so badly, the brother he worked so hard to save. He had failed him and had changed so drastically during those few short months that he was scared that he wasn't even the brother that Dean would recognize.

Yet, he knew how important his work was to himself, to everyone. He hated to leave Dean behind, to lie to him just so he could to do the things he needed to do - things he could never tell him about. He came so far - but now he was so far away from who he _had_ been, the sibling Dean had known and loved - and all that left him with was work, longing and fear. He wanted to tell him, to show him how he could make the world a better place, how he was going to save him before that asshole angel finally stepped up to the plate (too late, he often feared) and took that task, that promise away from him. He wanted to tell him so bad he'd even rehearsed it over and over again in his head, preparing himself for that day when it all came spilling out - though at the end of the day, all he could see in his imaginings was the fear, the horror and anger that would be in his brother's eyes.

If he thought visions were fucking scary, he'd blow his cork over this shit.

"Okay - we'll do that before we get started, " she replied.

"Cool...coffee first." _Like I'm not fucking jonesing for a hit of blood or anything_...

They drove in silence, the heat and motion of the moving car a soothing balm to his tired body and he found himself drifting, Ruby, Dean and The Job at the edges of his awareness as his mind tried to tilt towards that bliss known as sleep. He snapped out of his doze a scant few minutes later, muzzily surprised that the car was stopped, even as Ruby sat back down in the driver's seat - his coffee (two creams, ten sugars and a smattering of hazelnut flavoring) held in her outstretched hand.

He yawned and crimped his body around in the small confines of the Mustang's interior, trying to work the cramps out of his limbs as he practically snatched the coffee out of her hands, subduing his grateful whine into a more coherent 'Thanks' - his cold fingers wrapping around the styrofoam in an instinctual search for heat, the smell of it almost enough to make him feel awake and functioning again.

Almost.

"How much longer?" he yawned, taking a tentative sip of the boiling hot brew.

Ruby looked at him almost wistfully, her eyes trailing from the coffee cup to his face, a half smile quirking her full lips.

"Sorry - sometimes, I think I almost miss being tired. The _feeling_ that is..."

"Nahh, it's over-rated."

"About ten more minutes, give or take." In answer to his question. "I really hope this guy has a bead on Lillith, Sam - bitch is getting harder and harder to pin down."

"Shit, I just hope I'm ready for her when it's time to take her on," he answered, feeling more awake and easier in his own bones. Amazing what a quick car nap and some cheap, boiled muck from the local Stop'N'Rob will do for you.

Ruby's look was slightly unsettling as she threw the car into gear, mostly because he couldn't identify it before it shifted away from her features into something more recognizable - that perpetual smugness that used to drive Dean straight up the fucking wall.

"You'll be ready." She sounded so sure that it sent another wave of uneasiness crashing towards him, her tone more than her words being what bothered him. Before he could pin-point it though, she shrugged it off and snapped on the radio with a mischievous grin. "Now that you're awake..."

He grinned back at her, suddenly feeling better than he had in quite a few days. The coffee was good (for gas station coffee), the car was warm and he was semi-awake, getting ready to do something that both felt good _and_ was good for mankind - and even though the song on the radio sucked balls, all was right with the world. Until she had to open her fat mouth.

"I said it once, Sam and I'll say it again - you really need to tell your brother what's going on. Before he finds out for himself."

"Actually, you've said it a million times, but the answer is still the same. I'll do it when I'm ready. Besides, I've covered my tracks - he'll never figure it out," _the way he is now_ , "you worry too much."

"Okay, Sam...but if this blows up in your face-"

"You'll get a chance to say I told you so, even as I grovel at Dean's feet - there, happy?" He tried to keep it light, but even he could hear the edge in his voice that screamed 'drop it'. Truth be told, he was scared Dean would find out - but he was more afraid of telling him. Caught between a rock and a hard place on this one. He just needed time - time to figure out he how he was gonna do it, cause he knew Ruby was right. Eventually Dean would find out and all Hell would break loose when he did.

Just a little more time...

"I just hope I never have that chance to say 'I told you so'," was all she replied, her tone and manner neutral and almost bored.

Ironic that just a mere half an hour later, these would be the details that would haunt him as Dean walked away - all the time in the world gone and no good answers for anyone, much less his own brother.

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 _It's amazing the things you think about when your guard is down and your brain is left to spin on its own axis._

When Jess died and he was standing at her funeral, turned slightly away from her coffin with stiff legs, exhaustion oozing from every pore, face and chest aching from the weight of tears spent and tears to come, the only thing he could think was, 'I'm going to miss sleeping on the same bed every day.'

 _It was an off thought - totally inappropriate and one that came back to bother him when he was feeling his most tired and obsessive._

But as Dean walked away and after he'd had his 'Aww, FUCK.' _moment - the next whisper on the heels of that was_ 'Wonder if I was heavy as a baby.'

 _And then,_ 'I wonder if I can sleep on the same bed again.'

 _But he never really took time to examine those thoughts too closely. It would twist up in his mind in the wee hours after Dean was long gone, and exhaustion was his only companion - but he would shove it away, push it back down deep where it had come from, afraid that looking at it, thinking it through would mean that Dean, too, was dead. That he was never coming back._

And that was just not possible.

 **~ * ~ * ~**

  
 **04:35AM**

Breathe, breathe...

"Just concentrate Sam, you've got it - you've got him -" Ruby soothed, as he pushed and pulled against the power that tried to dominate him even as he wrestled to control it, to bend it to his will. It was like trying to hold a bullshark on a leash - and it took every ounce of strength to not buckle under the weight of it.

It was wonderful, this feeling - it was terrible, too. The power cascaded through his mind like cool, silver smoke - encompassing his every thought, his every breath, until all that existed was him and It - and when he could control It...well, there was no description for this. For any of it. It felt good, even as his stomach churned in nausea. It was ecstasy even as his head tried to split apart from the effort it took to harness and focus the power. No, there was no description for it. It just was -

And he didn't know if he found that terrifying or liberating.

He reached out, feeling the cool rushing of this power from nowhere stretching out across the few feet from him to their captive, those few yards seeming more like thousands of miles as he tried to stop the feeling/thing/power inside from leaping out and _eating_ the creature in front of him. Too much would kill the host and too little...too little meant that the demon had won - and there was no way that was going to happen. He'd fought too hard, too long and had given away too much of himself to let that happen.

It sensed his hesitation, his struggle, and laughed, spitting words that had no meaning, hateful sentences that fell on deaf and uncomprehending ears as he kept pushing out, the silvery smoke latching onto the dark thing within the man's body, gripping it with liquid ice claws. He could feel it thrash within his grasp and he tightened down, trying to force it still so he could maintain his firm, yet precarious hold. He could almost taste the fear and nervous anger that thrummed through the demon, it was a metallic, sour type of taste - almost like sweat and blood - and his concentration slipped a notch as his headache spiked to new levels of agony. It gibbered and laughed, the mirth overriding the fear that sang within it for a mere moment, the sensation like ripples of black steel against the silvery claw embedded in the demon's essence and Sam tightened down again, redoubling his efforts even as Ruby' gaze lasered across him, silently urging him on.

He acknowledged her with a minute nod and clamped down on his will, internally planting his feet to wrench the beast up and out of his host, feeling it come loose with an almost surprised slide, the fear it harboured moments before becoming a sulphorous stench of pure terror as it realized it was, indeed, being removed. He could feel it scrabbling for purchase inside its host, half-formed thoughts sliding up and over to skim Sam's mind as surprise and terror gave way to full-blown panic, its efforts to reattach itself becoming wild and unwieldy, a drowning man trying to draw in air where there was only water. Unfortunately for the demon, its wild floundering only made it easier to grasp, the silvery claw/smoke plunging deep as it fumbled frantically inside its host, the man underneath slowly becoming aware as he began to choke on the thick, oily substance that was the embodiment of the parasite he housed.

He coughed, retching up the demon as the bolt of Sam's will grabbed for more, the slide of it easier now that the main body was being rejected - the host's thoughts now overriding and clashing with the demon's howls of pain and anger - crashing into Sam and sending him staggering mentally even as he widened his stance, anchoring his feet as if that would still his mind. He pushed past the cacophony of white noise that shrouded the possessed mind, trying to weave his way fully around the demonic entity while steering clear of the host himself - a major feat that he failed at the first few attempts. The lingering memories from those catastrophic and/or aborted tries spurred him to delicacy even as he released a little more power, the fragile balance of control over the ability he wielded, his hold of the invader and his dance around the tripwire webbing of the man who had the misfortune to be there for it all, was almost enough to tip him into the grey haze that threatened his inner vision - and that would be a disaster for all three of them (though less so for the fucker riding shotgun in this poor bastard's body.)

The demon had abandoned all pretense of strength for taunts and insults, his outrage and sheer terror giving him one final adrenaline fueled burst of energy, just enough for him to fight back with a vengeance, intent on staying where he was anchored - or tear the still living man to shreds before he was sent back to whatever side of Hell he'd come oozing out of. It was pure fight or flight instinct, one that seemed to linger even after all else was burned away within the fires of The Pit, but it was also expected, calculated for even - and Sam felt a smile twitch at the corners of his mouth as he used the creature's predictability to his advantage. He abandoned the silvery claw, letting the demon slide through a fraction - just enough so that it felt it was winning. He could sense when it's last remaining reserves had ebbed and stretched his powers out into a web, relaxing into the feeling as the cool strands became that web before flaring into a net of sorts, encompassing and trapping the straining, quivery mass of black, electric sludge that was the demon, barely giving it seconds to realize what was happening before he wrapped it up completely, severing all ties to its host body. It shrieked and struggled, its cries faintly muted within Sam's mind - his power smothering it, binding it tight as he drew it up and out of the body, sizzling pieces of it landing on the concrete floor between the man's feet.

The host himself was quiet inside, worrisome but not enough to halt Sam from what he was doing. He hoped the man (Ronald? Was that his name?) was okay, but if he left his work half done...well, it was best to not think about such things. That, too, had happened once before - and once was more than enough. The hard part was over, the majority of the demon was gone - back to the Hole that had spawned it - and all that was left was a bit of cleanup, checking (Ron?) over and then getting him to some proper medical help. If he survived that is.

Sam desperately hoped that he would survive.

But no good would come of rushing anything. If he left even the slightest trace of the rider inside, it could call itself back together. He'd never seen that happen, had never felt it happen - but something deep inside told him that the possibility was there - and if that possibility ever became fully realized...

He shook himself, trying to rein in his wandering thoughts as he refocused his power for the clean sweep, blaming fatigue and a hard battle for his dithering brain. He took a deep breath, held it for a moment and exhaled slowly, feeling the main force of his power retreat even as the thin tendrils left behind flared again, icy waterfalls of silvery blue pulsing in and around the restrained body in the chair. His heartbeat all at once became the only sound he could distinguish, Ruby's soft, pleasure-tinged whispers of encouragement a mere wave of sensation - the floor under his feet, the bite of crisp autumn air against his skin; it all fell away, shrouded within the Grey as the world and Sam Winchester breathed as one, focusing, reaching and cleansing as he breathed out - the control easier, so much easier than ever before.The man gave one last deep, miserable retch that seemed to force itself up from his toes and the slightest puff of pitch-black smoke rolled out from between his lips, dissipating before it even hit the floor. The host was now demon free - clean, if you will. But was he alive?

Sam pulled back, body relaxing, headache retreating (but only by a little) as the power within reluctantly withdrew, it's sudden loss a distant ache, like a missing limb - but one that he had trained himself to handle over the last few months. It was there, always there - ready to be tapped and honed like a weapon against all things demonic, his own little arsenal - one he would be using again soon enough, he knew and that would have to do for now. He was relieved (after he had taken a mere few seconds to get his breath back) that even that feeling of loss, that hurt like something vital was missing was diminishing more rapidly now, becoming less painful the more he did this. If he stopped to examine that thread of an idea too much, it terrified him - but deep inside, it thrilled him as well. He was getting better. Saving people, hunting things - the family business kicked up to a whole new level - and that was _fantastic_...it was more than he could have ever hoped for.

He blinked his eyes open, the lids twitching in surprise and protest at being made to stay up after being squeezed tightly shut for so long - the dim light a sharp burst of agony reminiscing of the reawakening headache as he swayed on his feet, the effort to focus a tad difficult as he tried to reanchor himself in the reality outside of his mind. As always, he was grateful for the darker surroundings. Maybe one day he could wield his power in brighter light, but he was still learning, and with learning came lessons - and one of those lessons was pain. He rubbed absently, uselessly at his temple as he slid back into awareness. His first real, coherent thought was on the man tied to the chair in front of him. He had a fleeting idea (memory?) that he might have learned his name, but that had fallen into the Grey, irretrievable now that he was no longer connected to his power - though he supposed that really made no difference. If he needed to know who this man was, he could always ask him when he came to - but then again, maybe not. What they should do - what had become pretty much S.O.P. for these runs - was drop him at the hospital and hightail it, just become a bad memory for the poor soul, so much fodder for his nightmares and his shrink to sift through.

Leave names for those who needed them.

He heard Ruby step forward, the toe of her boot gritting against the concrete and cursed his wobbly attention span for the second time in under two minutes, shuffling towards the bound individual in front of him - those few steps seeming to drain all his remaining energy, even as fearful excitement flooded through him, leaving him breathless, almost giddy with hope and renewed joy. He was sure, very sure it had worked and as he felt for the faint pulse that thrummed in the former host's carotid, he could only feel relief and a weird urge to cry. The guy wasn't awake yet, but he looked none the worse for wear after the exorcism - proven by the very fact he was still alive and breathing. This was a win/win all the way around - made the damned railroad spike in his head worth it, every agonizing second.

He grinned at Ruby, relishing the proof of life for just a moment more, before moving to untie (Riley? Reggie?), his fingers stiff and clumsy as they tore at the ropes, his exhaustion and excitement only adding to the awkward fumblings of his movements. Ruby smile back at him, soft and wondering as she moved in to help.

"How'd it feel?" She sounded as excited as he felt, her awe and pride at his accomplishment shining through her eyes - though Sam knew the question itself was a two-fold one.

"Good," _fucking- **phenomenal**_ , "no more headaches."

' _Well, none worth mentioning._ '

"None? That's good," she replied, tone mellowing, relaxing as she helped pull the last of the ropes away.

She backed up a few feet as the man began to stir, groggily attempting to sit up and speak, eyes rolling helplessly in his head as he hummed wordless sounds in Sam's direction, panic and fear flaring to life in his eyes. God knows how long he'd been possessed - he could have been puppet-mastered for fucking years, for all they knew.

"Hey - hey, I got you. It's alright..." Sam murmured, leaning down to help the poor bastard to his feet. Right about that same time, he could feel Ruby's drastic shift in stance off to his left and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Something had changed, the atmosphere had grown denser, tighter somehow - they were being _watched_!

He shifted loosely on one heel, one arm still slung under the half-seated man's shoulderblades, his body automatically moving into a defensive posture, using the main bulk of his torso as a shield as his other arm tensed, hand tightening into a fist. He felt Ruby step backwards, away from the chair and it's occupant, sliding into a semi-flanking position to cover Sam's exposed side, her soft exhalation demanding he focus his attention on the here and now instead of dividing it between the potential threat and their recently saved captive. The signal was heard and processed before Sam really had time to think and he let the guy shift further down, hovering over the chair as he rotated into a full 90 degree spin on his right foot, fisted hand coming up in a warding gesture that would register as a threat to any demon who had _brains_ enough nowadays and came face to face -

With Dean...

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings, Notes, Disclaimers and Links to be found in the last chapter...


End file.
